


My Condolences to Myself

by Anonymous



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Depression, F/F, Gen, Grimdark, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Internal Monologue, Sobriety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 16:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you had listened close enough,<br/>You could hear the exact moment my mind <i>snapped.</i><br/>(I would like to claim this fill.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Condolences to Myself

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [homestuck_meme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/homestuck_meme) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
> 
> "Rose kind of gets the short end of the stick when it comes to characterization in the main comic. I'd like to see more development and exploration of her character. Maybe think of what she was doing off-camera that the comic skipped over."

Do you know what oil tastes like?

Well, that’s quite a silly question. Most sane people wouldn't know.

I do. Then again, I suppose it would be a stretch to consider myself sane.

It’s disgusting. The way it seeps down your throat sluggish and smooth, the way it leaves an after taste of complete and bitter grunge. The way it feels as it covers your skin, pushing down the hair on your neck to the tip of your breast. It’s cold and murky, and it’s painfully thick. It’s the scariest liquid I have ever had the misfortune of tasting.

I thought I was going to die; I thought I was going to drown. However, at the time I had nothing to lose, no nothing to lose at all. For everything had already been lost, you see? How can you lose nothing?

My life? My life was worth very little at that point. The minute we entered that game, I realized how worthless it truly was. I, Rose Lalonde, would never fall pawn to anyone or anything-- but there I was, doing just that. Once I realized that, I felt ashamed; a burning pang of regret and self disgust. Then all that was left, was anger. As if on call, the anger in my heart ignited the oil seeping through my lungs and I were soon thrown into a deep manifesting storm.

You see there are levels of emotions one must cross to get to a certain point. I know this very well, I had put it in my best interest to try and control these things. It’s not that I didn’t feel them, I was just exceptionally good at masking them. I’m no fool, however, I understood the implications of what doing so would lead to.  
  
It leads to rage.

Unadulterated _rage_.

I suppose it was better that my animosity was unleashed in this way, rather than on some poor unfortunate bloke who had just forgotten our marriage counseling appointment for the thirty-second time in a row. No I suppose, it was all as well planned as Skaia could possibly manage. It’s heinous, how even now I’m still a pawn. I resent it, but I’ve learned to accept it.Among other things that I’ve had to swallow down. Pride is the most useless emotion that I was burdened to carry the most of.

I believe it runs in the family.

Do you know how it feels to fall off the deep end, my love?

No, I suppose you wouldn't, God I hope you haven’t.

It’s awful, completely and utterly awful. It’s a cacophony in your mind, everything is quiet; a buzzing sound echoing across your thoughts. Everything hurts but you can’t grasp the idea of pain. You’re on an ungodly amount of steroids and anxiety. If you stop you feel like you’ll die--you either do something, or die. Move or die, and it is so positively overwhelming that you just _have_ to move forward. Blinded by the same thing fueling your drive, as each second passes you lose even more of yourself. Suddenly you take one step and even your shadow becomes foreign to you.

You're a vessel, I had never stopped being one. From the beginning to the bitter end,  I have always just been someone else's beloved toy. Someone’s plaything, or doll. I was born to be a human chess piece, but I suppose we all were.

I’ve had to learn to not think about it, but it’s nearly impossible not to.  Rather, it's maddening not to, but I'll fall ill if I do. Woe, what a constant circumstance to be forced to endure. More than a little melodramatic, I also blame that on my genetics.

You're beautiful you know that right, my dear? Your most handsome yet soft features on your smooth and hairless skin. I know you're disappointed in me. I'm disappointed too. I just can't let you shoulder the burden I feel. It's so _lonely_ being like this. I have you yet I still feel so alone. It's no one else's fault, but mine. I just can't bear to tarnish you darling. It would be a crime, a sin I could never forgive.

I believe I understand Mother most at these times, in my small pocket of sobriety. I can genuinely say I am too scared to take life on like this for too long. A glass or two eases my nerves, three or four I can fake on a smile. You hate it, and maybe I'm a little glad. Your kisses tinted with a small tinge of frustration, runs shivers down my chest and I can only smile at you dumbly as you ask me why. I don't have an answer for you sweet nightingale, not one that I have the courage to give anyway. Certainly not one you would like. So I just smile and drink and wait to let time do it's job.  
It must be on vacation.

I do hope it starts back work soon.

I don't know how much more my poor liver can take.

Or you.

**Author's Note:**

> Can I write anything that's not sad?  
> The answer is no. I'm so sorry. I don't even know if this is what you wanted.


End file.
